Martha's Heart
by GeekMom
Summary: "How the hell can you ask me something like that? Think about how much you love Alexis, and that is how much I love you, and don't you dare ask me where this is coming from!" A study of Martha and how she raises Rick and how their experiences shape him into the man we know today. Bless the characters created by Andrew Marlowe. His creation inspires and I am indebted to his genius.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - I think Martha's character is wonderful. A beautiful puzzle piece in Castle's life. A part of what make's him who he is and how he reacts to situations and people. He values his mom, her experience and her advice, begrudgingly. ;-) I'm a mom (a mom who is a geek and a mom of geeks) and I have wondered how she reacts and feels about her son's escapades. I hope I do her justice. Please let me know.**

Martha's Heart

Chapter One

One Night

He was captivated from the start. He watched her move gracefully as she entered and exited. The story, lost to him waiting for her to be seen again. She was not the center of attention, but she should have been. Come on, snap out of it. It hadn't been that long since he had been with a woman. He thought: Bucharest. The lights went out and after a few beats came back up. There she was; stage left. She was a part of the ensemble, but God she should have been up front, center stage. His pulse quickened. For the tenth time, he checked the playbill; she still wasn't listed with a picture. He read: Ensemble; Harold Anderson, Juliet Babcock, Jennifer French, Marvin Graham, Niles Mason, Oscar O'Leary, Tricia Patterson, Hugo Phillips, Martha Rodgers, Gina Stevens, William A. Tinker, and Betsy Walker. Okay, it was one of the girls: Juliet, Jennifer, Tricia, Martha, Gina or Betsy, twenty percent. He always calculated the odds. It is how he remained alive for so many years. He tilted his watch toward the stage. How much longer would the play go on? It was a production called Plaza Suite, a play at the Plymouth Theatre in New York. It felt good to be back at home, and he didn't want to spend his first leave in three years in his hotel room, so he ventured out. It was a hot late August evening and a cool air conditioned theater seemed like a great idea. The play made him laugh. God, he hadn't done that in a while. He saw her near the beginning of the first act. His heart dropped and then came all the way back up to his throat. He remained in a constant state of anticipation for the rest of the play. They were nearing the end of Act 3 and the play. She had not been back on. Oh! What if she wasn't coming back on stage? He did not know why, but he had to meet her. The entire company took their curtain calls. There she was. The house lights came back up and he darted for the door. He had to get to the stage door. He exited the theatre onto Plymouth street and turned to the right and then into the ally. There was a small group of fans waiting outside the stage door so he just melded into the throng. One after another, actors came out and then there she was. She was with another actress. He rushed forward. "Excuse me, miss?"

They both turned around and appraised him. The red head turned up her nose at him but the blonde smiled. He smiled back. "Come on, Martha." The red head impatiently tugged on Martha's arm.

"I'll meet you there, Trish." Martha couldn't take her eyes off him. The connection was instantaneous. Trish started to walk away. "On second thought," Martha called, "I'll be joining mister…" She looked at him for the information.

"Johnson, Alex Johnson."

"Mister Johnson. I'll see you tomorrow." Trish shrugged her acceptance. This wasn't the first time she had been dumped for a guy and it wouldn't be her last.

Martha turned back to Alex. "Shall we?" gesturing ahead.

They ended up in a quiet little bistro on Eighth Avenue. They talked well past midnight. They talked mostly about her; her history, her likes and dislikes, the type of food she preferred, her hopes, and dreams. Martha had never been shy about sharing herself and was more than willing to impart everything about her to him. At one in the morning the wait staff politely, but firmly asked them to leave. They walked the streets ambling and talking some more, not hearing the night sounds of New York, the sirens, or music. They went to his hotel for a drink in the lounge. It was nearly two o'clock.

Alex looked over his glass of scotch at her and made a decision. "Martha. My work takes me all over the world and I am not in one place for very long, ever. But, I'm on…vacation right now and I would love to spend every moment with you." He was confident. He had an air about him that exclaimed that he usually got what he wanted, one way, or another. Martha was mesmerized. She had met her fair share of men since she had been in New York, but Alex took her breath away. She suspected that he had given her a false name. He was not wearing a ring nor did he have a tan line where one would have been. She would see where the night took them.

"How would you like to begin your vacation?" She slowly looked up from her glass of wine and met his eyes. The fire burning there was unmistakable.

He rose from his seat and came behind hers to pull it out for her. He left a tip on the table and clasped her hand. He guided her toward the elevator. His room was on the seventh floor. They rode silently with two other couples who both got off on the fourth floor. The doors closed and they came together. Want and need etched in their features. Exploring and touching quickly in the elevator. The doors opened to the seventh floor and they released each other from their embrace. He guided her to his room, unlocked the door with one hand, and led her in with the other on the small of her back. They continued their exploration of each other as soon as his door closed. Thoroughly and repeatedly, they discovered each other. Their lovemaking was sometimes hard and fast and sometimes slow and tender. It was as if they knew everything about each other and nothing at all at the same time. Reason and logic had no harbor in their room that night. Their two souls came together, drawn inexorably towards each other in a fevered dance of passion. They fell to sleep sated and entwined in each other's arms.

Martha awoke as the sun was stretching tendrils through the draperies hanging in Alex's suite. She stretched and rolled over in the bed. It was empty. She blinked her eyes and looked for a clock. Her watch had been discarded on the chest of drawers last night. She stood and walked over to the dresser. There was a silver tray with a single red stemmed rose, a cup of cold coffee and the hotel stationery envelope. She picked up her watch; it was six thirty in the morning. She opened the envelope unfolded his note and read:

My dearest love,

Most people try for a very long time to meet that one special person that completes them. Their other half. The person they are fated to be with. Most people don't come close. They settle for what feels right at the time. Martha, dear, I have found my missing part in you. I have searched my entire adult life for love like the love we shared last night. I know I will never find it again. You are a wonderful, warm, open, and caring woman and any man would be a fool not stay with you and love you. Know that, if I was free and my life was my own, I would not be that fool. Nevertheless, I am. I am not in control of my time or location. I want you to know that I am not married. There is no other and I dare say that there will never be any other woman who captures my heart as completely as you have. Martha Rodgers, I love you and will always love you.

~Alex

Martha swallowed, took a deep breath, and folded the note back into its envelope. She brushed the tear from her cheek and began to get dressed.


	2. Pregnant?

**A/N - Thanks to TORONTOSUN and Jester's pet Oriole for taking the time to review and pass on their hopes for a Martha-centric story. This one was hard. So much has changed in our society in the past 44 years. I hope I've gotten close. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Martha's Heart**

**Chapter 2**

**Pregnant**?

Pregnant. Expecting. With child. Anyway, you put it; she was going to have a baby. She was alone, on her own, in a profession, which claimed to be hip and cool, but scoffed at an unwed mother. They were a risk. How could any producer count on an unwed mother? Her head was aching and her mind spinning with all of the information she needed to digest. She needed to make a decision.

Her doctor's appointment that morning ended in a bleak discussion of her options: adoption, just give the baby away to a real family, not a struggling actress, she could have it and the stigma that being an unwed mother brought with it, he had even danced around the idea of getting rid of it. The images of dark dirty back rooms and less than qualified practitioners came to her mind and made her sick. Besides, she would never ever consider that path. The doctor had asked several questions that bespoke of a bleak outcome. Where would they live? Roommates did not want a noisy, messy baby around. How could she be so selfish? How could she work and take care of it? It. He kept on calling the baby it.

Martha wiped her face off in the dingy bathroom off the main stage. She had been so sick and somewhat dizzy. She knew she should go home, but she needed the money. If she was going to do this and as a headstrong Rodgers woman, she was determined, she needed to start now. No more self-wallowing and pity for her. She made the choice to be with Alex and she did not regret it. She was now making the choice to have their baby, to raise him or her with all the love they shared that night. She was determined.

She had tried to find Alex in the days after their magnificent night. She found that Alex Johnson was not even registered at the hotel. A company called Capital Investment Acquisitions had paid for the room in advance. She watched for him for weeks afterwards at the theater and around the area to no avail.

She decided to move on and then she started having the symptoms. She suspected and then confirmed her condition. She decided to keep it a secret from the cast and crew until absolutely necessary. She did need to tell someone. It would be the hardest thing she had ever done. Her parents, Millie and Jim Rodgers were free spirits, but there was still a considerable generation gap.

She rode the F train through lower Manhattan across the East River and into Brooklyn. She had made the journey many times before, but this trip seemed longer and ridiculously quick at the same time. She got off at Barclay Center and walked to her parents' home. It was growing colder and Martha drew her coat tighter around her. She opened the gate and made her way up the concrete and brick steps of the old home. Martha steeled herself and reaffirmed her commitment to her decision. She grabbed hold of the doorknob but it jerked out of her hand. The door opened and there stood her father, Jameson Rodgers, self-made king of Coney Island. He, along with his lovely assistant, Millicent were still headliners with their incredible feats of mind reading, magic, and sleight of hand. Martha's childhood had been one of greasepaint and stage lights, late nights, and sideshows. Jim Rodgers was startled to find his daughter outside of his door. "Oh, hey there pumpkin." He smiled at his little girl.

She embraced him. "Hi, Daddy."

He looked at her and asked, "What's wrong?" He brought her inside. "Are you sick? Millie?"

"Dad"

"Millie, Martha's here. She's sick."

"Dad," a little more forcefully. Martha had to smile. She never felt more loved than when she was in her home. Millie Rodgers came skipping down the stairs, looking radiant. Her parents were both on the down side of forty; they had their children later than most of their contemporaries. They looked and acted much younger.

"Martha? What's wrong dear?" Concern shone from her mother's face, always the nurturer. Martha hoped that she would be a pale copy of her mother. "Oh, Jim, take her coat." She helped Martha out of her coat and gave it to her husband. She took Martha's hands. "Come into the kitchen and have something warm, you're as cold as ice. Did you walk far?"

They went to the back of the big old house to the kitchen. It was cozy and warm. Martha had fond memories of Christmas cookie baking, long girl talks with her mother and medicinal comfort food for any broken heart. She took her usual seat at the big oak table. Everything was the same. The same curtains, the same Tiffany style lamp hung over the table casting colored light around the kitchen, warming it even more.

Millie was fixing tea. She brought three cups to the table. "Martha? You're sick?"

Martha smiled tentatively, "No, mom, I'm not." Millie shot her husband a look.

"Daddy, just jumping to conclusions?"

"Hey, I'm sitting right here. She's cold through to the bone. I just gotta look after my pumpkin." Her dad was so kind. Martha looked at him and was sad that she let him down. She was sad that she let them both down, that she was disgraced and shamed. She swallowed and took a shuddering breath.

"Daddy, mom, no, I'm not sick." They watched her with rapt attention. They had always been good listeners. They said that the best storytellers, who are essentially, who they were, were also the best listeners. Martha adopted this philosophy in her acting.

She steeled herself again with the knowledge that the night with Alex had been right. She looked back and forth to each of them. "Mom, dad." She smiled and then it faltered.

Her mother took her hands, "Martha, you're so serious. You know you can tell us anything."

Martha nodded her head. "I…um…I met someone." Her mother beamed while her father looked suspicious. "His name is Alex. He's wonderful and mysterious, caring and…"

"And?" Her mother was gazing intently.

Martha sniffed, "Gone. We had a wonderful, magical night, but he told me that his work takes him away for years at a time."

"Oh, honey."

Martha looked up at her dad. His eyes were glistening. He was a big old softy. She pressed ahead before their sympathy crumbled her resolve. "There's more." She again searched their eyes and faces. She took a sip of tea and a deep breath, "I…I'm pregnant." She shut her eyes and waited for the fallout. There was silence. She opened her eyes. They were looking at each other. Her father the look of a lost puppy and her mother as if she'd been slapped. "Please say something."

"I…I don't know what to say." Her mother, who had always been the disciplinarian in their family, was frozen, stilled, and silent at Martha's declaration. Her father was trying his best to look understanding, but being the practical one, was already tallying up the costs, both financially, and socially.

"This Alex, does he know?"

"I haven't been able to find him."

"When is the baby due?"

"April."

"Have you thought about adoption?" Her father asked, grasping at any action that would make sense. "I know a lawyer friend…"

She cut him off. "No."

Her mother, quietly asked, "Really? Have you thought that through?"

"Yes. Look I know it will be hard, but."

Interrupted, again by her dad, "Hard? You have no idea how hard this will be? You have no money. No steady job. No support. How can you expect to do this alone?"

Martha took another breath. Her mother was just sitting there, in shock.

"I know how it sounds. Alex and I only knew each other a short while, but mom," she looked at her mother pleadingly, her breath caught and a tear escaped, "Mom, we fell in love with each other. I'm not in the habit of jumping into bed with just anyone." She said defiantly. "I am keeping our baby."

"It sounds like you've made up your mind." Her father was quiet. There was sadness in his eyes.

Her mother seemed to come out of her trance. "Have you been to see a doctor?"

"Yes, Tuesday."

"I think you should move back here." Her father looked shocked at his wife's words.

"Here? Millie, she needs to figure this out on her own. It seems that she has already made up her mind about a lot, without us."

"Jim, she's still our child."

"She's a grown woman."

Martha wanted to remind them that she was still there, but decided to let them work it out themselves.

"Yes, but now more than ever, she needs our support. That baby is your grandchild."

That stopped him. He had not thought about it that way. He looked at his daughter. "I'm sorry, pumpkin, I'm so sorry." She got up, dove into his arms, and began to cry. Her mother came over to them and completed their little family unit. She was crying too. After a few minutes, feeling comforted and loved, Martha pulled away.

She decided to take them up on their offer of a place to stay. She would continue to work as long as she could and contribute to the family's finances. She moved back into her old room. She took down the Beatles' posters and repainted. The baby would share her space, as her parents' home was not a huge palace.

Thanksgiving was a wonderful time for Martha; she was feeling better. She started to see physical evidence of the little life within her. Her clothes were getting tighter.

By mid-December, she could no longer deny the rumors and gossip. She overheard two of the other actresses, "Did you see Martha?" "Must be a love child." She cried, she thought they were her friends. She quit her job with the play after the producer called her into his office and told her that there was no part for a knocked-up girl in his play. She cleaned out her cubby and headed over the river to Brooklyn.

She was despondent after she lost her job. She second-guessed her resolve and determination to raise her child by herself. Her mother, ever the cheerleader, stoically told her to stand her ground.

Her father buoyed her mood when he woke her up Christmas morning. "Pumpkin?" he rubbed her back. She opened her eyes, red-rimmed, her mascara streaked down her cheeks. "Sweetheart, it will be okay. We'll work it out together." He smiled. "Besides, next Christmas I'll have a grand baby to spoil." He grinned.

"I love you, daddy."

"I know. Come on downstairs and see what Santa has brought you."

Martha rolled her eyes, "Dad? Santa?"

"I'm practicing." His sparkling blue eyes lit up as he grinned. She got up, put on her robe, and met him in the hall. They walked down to Christmas morning together.

The next months were uneventful unless you counted Martha's growing belly. Every time she turned around, she was outgrowing clothing.

* * *

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon. She was dozing in the rocking chair her parents gave her for Christmas, reading "On Her Majesty's Secret Service." It wasn't really Martha's favorite genre, but her dad suggested it.

Her mom sat down on her bed. It squeaked and gently startled Martha awake. "Oh, hi Mom."

Millie smiled at her daughter. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"A baby? Out of my body?"

Millie smiled. "He or she will be here before you know it. Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, just tired."

"Just a couple of more weeks now."

"I know; April thirteenth can't get here fast enough."

"Honey? Have you thought about names?"

"Actually, yes. I like Angela Marie."

Millie waited for her daughter to continue. "Sweetheart? What if_ she's_ a boy?"

"Not going to happen."

"Martha, you don't know that."

Her dad poked his head in the room. "My grandson will sure get his head handed to him if his name is Angela."

Martha giggled, "Dad."

"I mean maybe Sue or Jayne; he could get away with, but Angela?"

"Dad! I have thought about a boy's name." She lowered her head. "I like Richard."

Millie exclaimed, "Like Richard Burton? You've always had a crush on him."

"Mom!"

"And the middle name?" Her dad prompted.

Martha grew quiet. "Alexander, after his dad." She took a shuddered breath. It still hurt.

"Richard Alexander Rodgers. That sounds great." Her mother gushed.

"Or Angela Marie Rodgers is just as sweet." Her dad said as he came all the way into her room. He kissed her on the head walked out of the door and went back to his weekend honey dos.

Martha jerked awake. She looked at her clock on the nightstand. Three-fifteen? Oh, did she really have to go to the bathroom again? She swung her legs over the side, stood up and doubled over in pain. She cried out, "Mom!" She sat back down on the bed. Her mother opened her door.

"Are you alright?" she asked as she turned on the light. She took one look at her daughter's stricken face and smiled. "Shush now. It's starting sweetheart."

"Stuh…starting?" Martha could not get a breath.

"Labor, dear."

"But, it's too early. The baby's not due for another two weeks. "

Her father came in. "What's…?"

"Jim, get dressed we need to go to the hospital."

"Got it."

Martha seemed to relax out of the contraction. "Oh, my. I had no idea it would be like that."

"Let's get you dressed." Thank goodness, her mother was there, keeping everyone calm and focused.

They got to the hospital early on Monday March thirty-first and Martha started what she would refer to as the hardest thing she had ever done. It was not the pain; it was how long she was in labor. Her baby was in a hurry by two weeks, but taking his or her time to arrive. Finally at seven fourteen on Tuesday, April first 1969, her baby was born. Martha was exhausted. She barely heard the doctor tell her she had a healthy baby boy before she drifted off to sleep. They woke her up a few minutes later and put her very annoyed baby in her arms. Wow, he could scream. Martha looked terrified as her mother came up beside her. She smiled, knowingly, "He's hungry, sweetheart."

Martha's eyes widened, "Oh." She fed him and he quieted. She assessed her son: ten fingers, ten toes, a shock of dark hair that seemed to be standing up in every direction, and bright blue eyes. He had Alex's eyes. Martha looked into her those eyes and for the second time in a year, fell deeply and devoutly in love.


	3. Juggling Act

**A/N - I would like to beg forgiveness to those of you following the story. I have actually been writing, throwing out, re-writing, throwing out and re-writing this chapter. I really am not satisfied with it still. It's awkward and I'm trying to cover Rick's childhood in highlights. I hope I've conveyed how difficult it must have been for Martha on her own. We'll see. Thanks for the reviews and comments, you guys are great!**

* * *

**Martha's Heart**

**Chapter 2**

**Juggling Act**

Her breath caught when she saw him for the first time. She fell in love instantly and she knew that she was done. She fell in love with him every time he was still and quiet. When he was up, moving and noisy, she didn't have time to ponder the great mysteries of the love for a child. Martha was exhausted. In the first year of Richard's life, she had exactly four and a half hours of sleep. Well, okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but only by a couple of hours.

The first few months had been hell on earth. Even with her parents' help, she convinced herself that she was the worst mother in the civilized world. Her son had an unlimited supply of energy and he would not stay asleep for more than a couple of hours at a time. All the baby books had it wrong. He had far more resolve than she did when it came to when he should be up and when he should be sleeping. When he slept, it looked like all the peace in the universe came to rest on his face. Martha caught her breath.

The doorbell rang. Martha jumped up and ran down the stairs to the door. She made it to the messenger at her door before he rang it a second time. Richard had just fallen asleep and she needed to get some work done. She was expecting a script from her agent. She hadn't worked since before he was born. Well, she hadn't acted, on stage, for money. She had actually worked harder than she ever had in her life since he was born. Her son was a handful.

She opened the door. "Ah. Miss Rodgers?"

"Yes." She whispered.

The messenger looked around and raised his eyebrows conspiratorially. "I have a package for you." He whispered back to her. "It's from The White Way Agency. I'll need your signature."

Martha signed his form, forgot herself in her excitement, and squealed, "Thank you!" She shut her eyes and clamped a hand over her mouth. She looked terrified. The messenger looked at her questioningly. She shook her head, whispered "Thank you" and ushered him out the door. Martha quietly closed the door and leaned back against it. She took a deep breath and listened. Not a sound was heard from upstairs. She tiptoed up the stairs got halfway there and heard him. It was just a small whimper at first. Martha closed her eyes and waited. "Please, please, please go back to sleep." She prayed, silently. Two, three, four, she counted the beats and let out her breath. She was in the clear. She silently skulked into their room and slid onto the bed. She leaned back and he looked at her through the rungs of his crib. He was lying on his tummy, head up and his blues eyes piercing her very soul. He smiled at her and she melted. She walked over to his crib and looked down at him. She sighed. "Hey, kiddo. Short nap." He smiled back at her and gurgled. She swore that sometimes he knew exactly what she was saying. She tried rubbing his back to see if he would fall back asleep, but Richard was having none of it. He pouted and then smiled and looked at her, totally in control of the interaction, blue eyes blazing. Martha picked him up.

"You know, if you keep letting him charm you, that kid will be more of a handful than you can imagine."

"Hey, Mom." Martha said through her yawn.

Millie came into her daughter's room and concern wrinkled her forehead. "When the last time you had more than a couple of hours of sleep in a row?" She tilted her head to assess her daughter.

Martha smiled. "Hmm, March thirtieth."

"Sweetheart, why don't you let us help?" She reached for her grandson. "Hey, big boy!" Richard busied himself with her baubles on her necklace. "You dad and I are willing to take on some of the caretaking. Martha, it's okay to take our help."

Martha smiled at her mother and at her son. She suddenly felt all of her reserves crash down and tears began to roll down her cheeks. "Mom? I thought I could do this. I thought it would be easy; after all, he's just a tiny little baby. Why can't I do this?"

Millie smiled knowingly. "Martha, he isn't just a tiny little baby. He's a completely helpless human, totally dependent on you."

Martha shot her a look. "I don't think he's completely helpless, this one's going to be a charmer." They both smiled and laughed. Millie took the opportunity to nuzzle Richard's neck and she was rewarded with a giggle.

"It will just take a period of adjustment. In the meanwhile, let your dad and me help you. Please." She held her daughter's hand. "Come on, kiddo, let's go find grandpa." Millie got up off the bed and took Richard down stairs. Martha felt like a complete failure. She stayed on her bed and let the tears fall until she fell asleep, the script forgotten.

By the time he was seven months old, he decided that he had enough of lying around and learned how to walk. He quickly progressed to running. He was a bundle of reaching hands, running feet, curious about everything and he was fast, so incredibly fast.

On a rare day off, Martha took Richard to the park. Richard was officially a toddler and now that he was walking, that was it. There was no going back. He disliked being carried. She savored this rare time together, if you could call it being together. He was exploring. She was watching.

Martha had gotten a great part in an off Broadway play and was happily working again. She missed spending all day with her baby though. She would get home after he was in bed and he awoke before she did. Her parents had converted Millie's sewing room into his bedroom, so Martha could get the rest she needed, but that meant that she didn't see him as often as she liked.

She was working on his first Halloween. His grandma had made him a scarecrow costume and Richard and grandpa trick or treated. Martha arrived home at eleven thirty to find her father asleep next to a bucket of candy. Richard was asleep on his belly. They both had chocolate smeared smiles on their faces.

His first Christmas his grandpa spoiled him just as he promised he would. All the bright lights and the colored paper held special fascination for him. He played with the toys with help from his grandpa. However, the thing that held his interest and attention the longest were the storybooks. Millie had given Richard a set of Grimm's Fairytales. Jim would begin reading and Richard would stop whatever he was doing to sit with grandpa and listen.

Martha came through the front door and a bundle of energy slammed into her knees. "Whoa, kiddo." She bent down to pick up her son. That lasted all of three seconds and he was off. She took a deep breath. Where had a year gone? Milestone after milestone, it just went too quickly. He would be talking soon, in English, not his language, although her dad was convinced that because of Richard's obvious intelligence that he was, in fact, an alien and his language was the language of his people. It seemed to make perfect sense to him. He was a happy baby. He was always laughing and smiling or getting into trouble. He liked to explore. Unfortunately, that included electrical cords or figuring out exactly what could or could not be flushed down a toilet. He kept them all on high alert. Because of his speed and curiosity, he had been to the emergency room so many times, the nurses knew him on sight. He was fearless.

Martha had been out on a few dates since she went back to work. It was always the same though, when the guys found out about Richard they simply wouldn't call again. Young men didn't want to be tied down to a toddler. She was lonely.

"Pumpkin?" Her dad lightly rapped his knuckles on her door.

Martha was on her bed studying her script. "Yeah, dad."

"Um," he sighed and looked awkwardly around the room.

"Dad?"

He looked at his feet, then back to her. "Your mother's sister is sick. Aunt Vivien. We're going to go help out."

"Sick? What do you mean? Aunt Vivien in Las Vegas?"

"It's cancer, honey. It doesn't look good. Your mom needs to go see her."

"I understand. How long will she be gone?

"Martha, we both need to go and it's for the summer."

"But what about the act? What about the house?" She really wanted to ask what about her and Richard, but after everything they had done for her, she couldn't ask for more.

"We're going to take a leave and the house will be fine. Of course, you'll be here, taking care of it." He said, smiling, and then as if reading her mind, he added, "we just don't know what to do about Richard. We know how much you've grown to depend on us to help out and we both feel terrible for up and leaving."

"No, dad, you need to go. It's okay." Martha didn't know what she would do either.

Her dad brightened. "Hey! We could take him with us."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Jim, we'll do no such thing." Martha's mom had entered the room. "We'll be gone for months. You can't take a child from his mother for that long." Martha breathed again. It was going to be nearly impossible to care for him on her own, but she couldn't let him go for months.

They had packed up for an extended stay. The original plan was that Martha and Richard could stay and her folks would still pay the mortgage. Martha would only need to take care of their groceries and electricity. Three months turned into six. Her father had to find work to support themselves in Nevada. They eventually decided that they needed to make the move permanent. It broke Millie's heart, but she committed herself to stay with her dying sister. Martha, not wanting to be a burden, said that they were fine and she had thought about moving back into the city anyway. With her revelation, that settled it. Jim and Millie rented their home through a real estate agent and Martha and Richard moved to Manhattan. Richard, who was just twenty months old, began his big city adventure.

* * *

"Martha." She heard her name announced.

"Martha." The audience was chanting her name.

"Holy shit! Martha! The kid's crying." She woke up to one of her roommate's yelling her name.

"I'm up. Sorry." She walked over to his crib and looked at her son. He was indeed crying, again. She leaned down to pick him up. He was hot, really hot. "Oh, my God, Janice, I think he's sick. He's hot." Janice sighed and came over to her. She put her palm on Richard's forehead. "Yeah, I think he is." Compassion was not her strong suit. She was not sure what she should do. He was always healthy.

She sat in the emergency room of Roosevelt Hospital. She sat with a very unhappy two year old on her lap. She sat enduring the glares from the other people who were waiting. She waited and waited. She'd missed the curtain. It meant that she would have to look for another job. She sighed and held Richard to her chest. She looked around for anything that she could use as a distraction and saw a paperback on the end table. _On Her Majesty's Secret Service _by Ian Fleming was not Martha's cup of tea, but Richard calmed when she started reading to him. The boy loved his stories. She hugged her feverish waif closer to her as she read.

"Chicken pox," the emergency room doctor turned to her and repeated, "chicken pox, and a nasty case too."

The next few years brought other trips to the emergency room, more missed curtains, more unforgiving roommates, more strife, and more headaches. It was hard. There was no denying it, but Martha also had more laughter, more joy, more love than she had ever known in her life.

* * *

He grew up so fast. The day he started kindergarten, broke Martha's heart but also brought a modicum of relief. At least he would be taken care of for seven hours every day.

They settled into a routine. He was very self-sufficient. By the time he started second grade, he was getting himself dressed, cleaned up, making his own breakfast, and packing his lunch in the morning. Martha's schedule was uncertain, but mostly, she would need to be at the theatre in the afternoon and the performances were in the evening. Richard was acquainted with an ever-changing array of "Nannies". They were his mother's acting friends, some out of work, and some just taking a break. He found out quickly that most didn't pay attention to him. He could come and go as he pleased.

He was very confident for an eight year old. He started taking the bus to the New York Public Library when he started the third grade. He preferred the books and adventure they afforded to the nannies, their drinking games, and One Life to Live.

One day, Martha came home early. It was Richard's ninth birthday. She had wanted to surprise him. She entered their apartment to find a sweet older woman named Joan whom Martha had worked with in a very short-lived production of Hamlet. Joan was the only person in the apartment and she was asleep. "Joan." She shook her friend, "Joan."

"What? Oh, Martha. Is it ten already? But Richard didn't come home yet."

"Joan, what do you mean he hasn't come home? School let out hours ago."

"Well school, yeah, but he told me he stayed at the library until it closed and then he was to come straight home. He's usually here by eight-thirty."

"Joan, really? Richard is an eight-year-old boy. He shouldn't be wandering around the city until eight-thirty."

"I know, but he said that you Okayed it. Martha, that angelic little boy would not lie. Maybe you forgot."

Martha leaned in closer. What did she smell? She closed her eyes and counted to ten. She opened them again and said, "Joan, I never gave him permission and you've been drinking when you are supposed to be watching my son."

"He said you wouldn't mind." Martha rolled her eyes.

"Okay Joan, I'm here now, so you can go. Thank you, darling." She air kissed Joan's cheeks and waved her out of the apartment. Martha took a deep cleansing breath. It didn't work. Where was that bottle?

His key jangled the lock at eight-thirty. The door opened and she heard him call, "Joan, I'm home, I'm going to get in my bath…" He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed his mother. They stared at each other for a frozen moment.

"Well?" asked Martha.

Richard, who was used to charming his way around the city, his nannies, and his school wasn't so practiced on his mother. He was quite an accomplished little actor. He could sincerely look at you with his deep blue eyes, smile the little crooked smile at you, and have you do his bidding. Not his mother though. "Hi Mommy," he said, love dripping from every pore.

"Richard Alexander Rodgers. I got someone to cover for me tonight. Do you know why?"

He started to shake his head when something occurred to him. "Because we need to do laundry."

"No, because it's your birthday and I thought we might celebrate together. I came home, but you weren't here and poor Joan was given to understand that I gave you my blessing to be out roaming the city at all hours of the night."

"Not the city, just the library."

She took a breath, a small moment to say thanks for answered prayers. "Sweetheart, you understand that I have to work nights," he nodded, "and that I would do anything for you," a nod, again. "The only thing I ask is that I know you are safe and…"

"I'm safe at the library, mom. I'm friends with the security guard there, his name is Jack." He interrupted.

She continued, "My point is that anything could have happened to you and I wouldn't have known where you were."

He narrowed his eyes and considered her. He pursed his lips and said, "Joan knew where I was, that is if she wasn't drunk."

Martha sighed, he had a point. "Come here, kiddo." He cautiously came to her. She enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug, so grateful that he was safe and home. "You need to promise me that you will be where I think you are."

He nodded, enjoying the affection. "What about Jack and the library?"

"You really want to stay there?"

"It's a great place. Do you know how many books are there? It's gotta be over a million!" His enthusiasm was infectious.

"I'll find out if we can get official permission, tomorrow." He hugged his mom tighter. "Happy birthday, Kiddo."

Martha went to the library's head librarian and found out that the youngest age a child could come to the library unattended was ten. She explained that her son had been coming to the library without her permission. She mumbled, "Oh, Richard will be so disappointed. He loves it here."

"Richard? Dark hair, brilliant blue eyes? Goes by Ricky?"

Martha looked dubious, "Yes, that sounds like him."

"Oh, I had no idea he wasn't ten already, he's so smart and mature. I don't want to keep him away. How old is he?"

"He just turned nine." Martha admitted sheepishly.

The librarian was surprised, "Nine? Wow. Mrs. Rodgers, I think you've got quite a handful in that son of yours."


	4. On The Road

**A/N - Thanks for all the encouraging and thoughtful reviews and comments. I was considering this story and where it will need to go in order for me to do it justice. I've decided it will be a daunting task. Thank you to all who want to join me on this exploratory journey. I hope I get it right. Martha is complex. I'm finding it interesting to see what life experiences help to shape and mold our Ricky into the man we all know and love.**

* * *

Martha's Heart

Chapter 4

On the Road

They settled into a routine that they stayed with for the next year and into the beginning of Rick's fifth grade year. Stable and stationary, he enjoyed the predictable. They celebrated his tenth birthday. Martha took him out to dinner, and solemnly told him that he was adopted, again. He appreciated her April fool's joke. She had begun the tradition a few years ago, when he grasped the concept. She secretly feared he would get her back someday. She was happy that they had found a routine. She was working; he had been looked after, albeit in an unorthodox way. Martha was sorry to have to bring her news and upset his world.

She came home on an evening in September. It was just like every evening, just after ten-thirty. He was asleep in his bed. She caught her breath at the sight of him. He was far too grown up for a ten year old. He had a routine. Wake, get dressed, fix himself breakfast, and head out to school. He spent his after school hours at the library, made his way home. Sometimes she would arrange for his supper, either the current nannie would fix it or delivery, but mostly he wanted to fix it and if Martha was truthful with herself, he was becoming an accomplished little cook. Always considerate, he would make enough for her and leave it in the oven. He would take care of cleaning up and cleaning himself up, get ready for bed and that's where she found him. Just like tonight. He was ten. He was self-sufficient. It made her heart ache. Many years of late night jobs, inefficient baby-sitters, moves, changes, so many changes, but he adapted. She wasn't sure if their life had been a good thing for him or bad. Some nights, like tonight, she just ached to have her baby, but she feared he was gone. She had forced them both to grow up far too soon. She sighed.

Martha walked into his room and noticed, not for the first time, that it was not the typical ten-year old boy's room. He had a system here too. He didn't have an over-abundance of possessions, but what he did have he took care of. Books arranged neatly (and alphabetically) on his shelves. There was none of the normal kid things hanging around like clothes out of drawers, piles of toys, no, he kept things orderly. Martha gulped at an epiphany. Were his routines and systems the only normality he had in his life? She already knew the answer. He was controlling anything he could. She knew it was partly due to her erratic work schedule, partly because of her fears of her inadequate skills as a mother and partly because of how many times they had moved. The boy was ten and had lived in twelve separate homes. He seemed happy though. He was always smiling. He did well in school, even if he seemed to get into trouble a lot. He was never in trouble for fighting, much or cheating, nothing of that sort, but he did seem not to know when it was appropriate to smart-ass a teacher. They all loved him, even the ones with whom he had had, um, disagreements. He was charming and he had learned how to use his abilities to his advantage. She was not sure if that was a good thing or not. She was constantly reminding herself that he was ten. She went to his bedside and sat on the edge. His lamp was still on and he was holding a book. She smiled. He was always holding a book. Her son did like to read and before that, to listen to stories. It didn't matter what kind of stories, either. He loved the words. Martha picked up the book and read its title, "Casino Royale." She perused the back cover, oh, James Bond. He made up his own stories too, mostly about spies, so the title didn't surprise her. She bent down and kissed his forehead. She noticed that cut he had received in an altercation with another boy and his baseball bat earlier in the week was healing, but it would leave a scar. She sighed and smoothed his hair down. He smiled in his sleep, happily dreaming, content in his routines and in his normalcy. She expelled a long breath, she was about to change his life again.

Martha awoke at five the next morning. Most mornings she would sleep in, Richard being fully capable of taking care of himself, but today, she needed to talk to him before he was gone. She was waiting for him when he came out to the tiny kitchen. Their current apartment had two bedrooms, one bath, and a living/kitchen area. He was startled to see her awake. "Good morning, sweetheart," she said to her bleary-eyed little boy.

"Mommy, what are you doing up?" He asked, bracing. The only times his mom got up with him before school was because something in their lives was changing.

"Don't I rate a good morning kiss?" She playfully threw the line at him. It was a well-scripted exchange and they both knew their parts.

He came into her embrace and sighed contentedly. She gratefully accepted the affection.

He went about getting his breakfast. Martha watched his practiced hand proudly. "I have some great news," she offered enthusiastically. He eyed her, his head tilted to one side. This was it. Whatever she said next would be the change.

"Great news is always exciting." He chose his words carefully.

"I've gotten a new job, darling. It means a lot more money, recognition and maybe we can find a really nice apartment when we get back." She smiled her on stage smile. He regarded her. He loved his mother, but he had learned to be cautious around her theatrics.

"When we get back," he repeated. "Where are we going?"

"Oh, darling, I've landed a simply fabulous role in the road company of a musical." She was trying her best to be excited. She needed the job, but she hated moving them around.

"Road Company," he repeated, "What does that mean?"

She swallowed and explained, "Well, it means that you get to come on tour with me. Instead of going to school, you'll have tutors along with the other actor's kids. There are only a few others from another family. It will be so educational for you, Richard; you'll see so many places."

He tried to keep focused on the positive things his mother was saying, but the bottom line was that they were moving again. "I don't understand about 'on tour'. Will we still be in New York?"

"No, sweetheart, but we'll be back."

"How long?" Down to business.

"About six months, starting on October third." She bit her lip. She knew he was processing the fact that she had just told him that he had less than two weeks to prepare to change his life, pack up his world. It wasn't fair, she knew it wasn't, but they'd always made the best of the changes and they would this time as well.

He thought for a good long minute, looked at his mother. She was sitting at the edge of her seat, uncomfortably poised for any type of fight from him. He read sadness and something else in her eyes that he couldn't quite decipher. Oh well, there was nothing he could do about the changes, it was just how their lives were. "Okay, but now I have to get to school." He finished his cereal and headed to the bathroom leaving a silent stunned Martha at the table.

He sauntered back through the kitchen a few minutes later. Martha was fixing coffee. She watched as he collected his lunch, he made it the night before, threw his book bag on his back, and started toward the door. She held her breath. He turned around and came back to her. She gave him her full attention.

"I love you," he said sincerely. Martha noticed the depth in his eyes. He was not just a ten-year-old boy, there was an old soul living behind those eyes.

"Oh, darling," she said as she swept him up into her arms. "I love you, too and it will be okay. It will be an adventure," she almost sobbed it to him.

"I know," he said. He smiled a lopsided grin and she could swear his eyes sparkled as he disengaged himself from her embrace. "I'm looking forward to it," he started toward the door, "goodbye, mom."

Richard didn't mind leaving school; he hadn't made any friends there. The teachers treated him like the child of a single parent, it was a stigma, one in which, he was damaged somehow or not smart enough, he didn't understand it. He just shook his head. No, he didn't care about leaving school, but he would miss the library. He had made friends there: the janitor, aides, and librarians. They all thought he was extraordinary. He had taught himself how to speed read and he devoured books everyday. Jack had recently shown him to a part of the fiction section, he hadn't previously seen. Spies, turncoats, intrigue. Richard's imagination practically begged for the adventure. He could not get enough of the genre. He had read the kids' fiction, The Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, but they were nothing compared to James Bond. He wanted to be James Bond. It was all he could think of. He had escaped into books since the time he could read. Probably before, if he could remember that far back. He was sad to leave the library, but he knew he would be back.

The last day he was allowed to spend at the library, he said his goodbyes. It wouldn't do to have his friends there suddenly wonder what happened to him. He sought out Missus Read, the head librarian. She sort of adopted Ricky. He liked her. She always steered him toward really great books. He looked for Jack, probably his closest friend, for hours. He knew he might not see him, Jack only worked part time. It was nearly time for him to go. He saw Martha come into the fiction section. She waved, that's when he heard it. Rick spun around. Jack was standing in an aisle. Ricky ran to him. "Oh, man, I thought I was going to miss you."

"Why would you miss me?" His face was still partially in shadows.

"I...I'm going away for a while," Rick told him. Something passed over Jack's face. Sadness?

"Hmn. Where're ya goin'?"

"Road trip, with my mom. She's an actress. Did I ever tell you that?"

"No, I don't think you did."

Rick looked down at his feet, "Well, she's here to get me. I don't know when I'll be back, but I will."

"I'm sure you will." Jack smiled affectionately at Rick. "Your job is to take care of your mother, don't you forget that."

Rick shook his head, "I won't. Oh, I really liked the book. I could see everything as it was happening. It was so cool!"

Jack smiled, "I knew you would. Take care now, Ricky. Have a good trip."

Impulsively Rick lunged forward and hugged Jack's midsection. He was caught off guard. Jack looked down and ruffled his hair. Martha came around the corner to witness the embrace. "Richard?" she called, taken aback at seeing her son embracing a stranger, "Who is that?" Rick pulled away, turned to his mother, "This is Jack," but when he turned back, Jack was gone.

The next day they began their next big adventure. The show was called "A Chorus Line." Lots of music, dancing, lots of offstage costume changes. Rick received more of an education about show business, grease paint and the female anatomy than any ten year old should have access to. He spent his days in tutor school with Jamie and Derrick. The three became inseparable. Jamie and Derrick were a few years older than Rick. It was Rick; he was not a little kid anymore and Ricky was not appropriate now that he was hanging out with guys who were thirteen and twelve.

His evenings were spent reading backstage, watching the show from the wings, or getting into trouble. The latter seemed to be happening more and more often. On this particular night, he, Jamie, and Derrick were caught selling show pictures that they had stolen in an alley close to the theatre in Buffalo. The three of them had been locked in the broom closet of the aptly named Buffalo Theatre, by the stage manager. They tried to escape, played cards, Rick read his book to the others (in various voices) before the trio fell asleep. It was nearly eleven when the door opened and Martha found her son. Jamie and Derrick's father immediately lit into them. Martha preferred a more private discussion.

They found an empty dressing room. She turned to him after shutting the door. "Well?"

He stood, obstinately staring at her. Okay, she thought, I can play that game. She stared at him. She shook her head imperceptibly. She teared up a little. That did it. He came rushing toward her. He reached his arms out for a hug. She stopped him by holding up her hand. "Mommy?"

"Oh, now it's 'mommy'?"

All of the smug, self-satisfied, bravado slipped away. He couldn't help himself, he pouted, his blue eyes lost and scared.

"You have made some pretty bad decisions over the past few months, but this one interferes with my job."

"But."

She cut him off, "You know the difference between right and wrong, you know that stealing someone else's property is wrong. Selling someone else's property is a whole other type of wrong. I don't know what to do. Why?"

He blinked and looked up at her. "Why what?"

"Why are you trying to get me fired?"

His eyebrows shot up. Martha could tell he was genuinely surprised. "Fired?" Rick was having a good time. There were no bedtimes, no self-enforced routines, or drunken nannies telling him what to do. His teacher was hot. She was an understudy with a teaching degree. He had made the best friends of his life in Jamie and Derrick. She couldn't be fired. "No! I don't want you to get fired." He started to panic.

"Really? Because that's the discussion I just had with the director." She hated lying to him, but she needed to get him back under control. She actually had a very good relationship with the director, very promising. His eyes were wide in fear. He could understand about consequences.

His bottom lip started trembling and his eyes glazed over with tears. "I…I didn't mean…"

She cut him off again, "I know you didn't mean anything by it Richard, you are not a bad child. You need to be aware though, that every choice you make has consequences and sometimes the consequences don't just affect you."

It was breaking her heart. Her dressing down had the desired effect. Her boy was standing in front of her, but he, basically, was a puddle. He was openly crying now. She wanted to hug him and forgive him, but she also needed to make sure he was safe. "It's time for bed."

He turned to leave, stopped, and turned back to her. "Mommy? I'm sorry," he swallowed, "I love you."

She didn't respond so he turned back to the door. "Richard, I love you too. To bed." He continued out the door. Martha rose and walked to the door and closed it. She cried. All she wanted to do was cradle that small child. It took everything in her to be firm.

Richard's behavior improved from that time on. He spent more time reading and scribbling in his notebook and less with Jamie and Derrick. It was the first time he realized that who he spent his time with was at least as important as how he spent it. He also spent less time devoted to his studies. Martha had a meeting with his tutor. She was a nice enough kid, but Martha could see where a young boy might be distracted in her class. She was tall and slender: a dancer's body, waves of long blonde hair and a cute perky face. She also had a teaching degree, her fallback profession, and had agreed to tutor the three kids associated with the company.

"Failing? He's never failed or even come close before." Martha sighed and rubbed a hand across her eyes.

"He's not failing everything. He's very good at spelling, he has an impressive vocabulary, and his command of grammar is great. He reads on a high school level and his writing is well thought out and entertaining."

"But…"

"She nodded, "but in everything else, he's struggling. He just doesn't seem interested."

Martha shook her head.

"Look, he just needs to find some balance. He excels in English, I'm sure if he applied himself in math, science, and social studies, he'd do just as well. I just thought you should know."

"Yes, thank you, Miranda. I'll talk to him."

She left the break room that they designated their schoolhouse for this leg of the production. Curtain wasn't for another couple of hours; she would need to talk to him before then. School had never been Richard's favorite place, but he never had trouble keeping up his grades before. They were staying in a small hotel in Cincinnati. Martha stopped for his favorite pizza and brought it back to the room. She found Richard there, asleep with books open across his bed and his notebook on his lap. She eased the notebook out of his hands. She wanted to see what he was working on. She started to read a story of international spies (what else), betrayal, and murder. Miranda was right, he did write well. She put the notebook down and gently shook her son.

"What?" Came his bleary, sleep-laden response.

"Richard, I need to speak with you, now, before my dinner date gets here."

He pursed his lips. His mother had been spending an awful lot of time with Mac. He liked to be called MacKenzie, but Rick thought he looked more like a Mac. "Kay."

"I just spoke with Miranda." He perked up a bit. He had a crush on her and Martha knew it. "She says you're doing really well in English, dear." Not so bad, thought Rick. Usually when his mother needed to speak to him, it was for a dressing down of some sort, otherwise he was left to his own devices.

At his proud smile, she added, "but in everything else, you're in danger of failing." The smile slid off his face. "She's very disappointed in you." She used his crush on the teacher. "She would really like you to try harder in math, science, and social studies."

"But they're boring," he shot back.

"But you still have to pass them. Do you think spies didn't pass their fifth grade math classes?"

Shock came over his face and his eyes darted to his notebook. That was his and he didn't want to share it with anybody. "I'll try harder."

"Good, kiddo. We all have things we don't like to do." There was a knock on their door. "Then again, there are things that we love." She opened the door. The director of the show was standing there. "MacKenzie, right on time. You never miss your cue do you?" He politely chuckled. Martha excused herself and finished getting ready.

"Heya kid," he threw to Rick.

Rick looked like he had swallowed something bad. "Heya Mac."

He sighed, "I really prefer MacKenzie. I think we've talked about it before." Rick rolled his eyes. His mother came back into the room.

"Sweetheart, put yourself to bed by nine and no going out." She kissed his head. He nodded and smiled at his mom.

MacKenzie helped her on with her coat and ushered his mother out of the door. "Goodnight kid." Rick grimaced. He didn't like him. He watched the car drive them away from the window. Hopped down and opened the pizza box. It was Ohio pizza. He missed New York pizza.


	5. Connections

**A/N- Well I just want to remind everyone that I said this wasn't going to be easy to write. I'm going where the words lead me and most of the time - well, you'll see. **

**This chapter is setting up some things that will happen in the next couple of chapters. I'm sorry about the slow pace, but the groundwork needed to be laid down.**

**Thanks to everyone for the encouraging reviews and comments. Please keep them coming. This is challenging and I would genuinely like to know what you think of where it is going or where you see it going?**

**For Maria a guest reviewer - FF blocks anything that remotely looks like a website, including email addresses so here's your answer - According to the canon, no. Martha doesn't meet up with Alex again, up to this point in the series. **

**Yay! The hiatus is over tomorrow!**

**Cheers!**

**GeekMom**

* * *

**Martha's**** Heart**

**Chapter 5**

**Connections**

He held the door open and she climbed into his rental. It was parked right outside of their room. Fastening her seatbelt, she looked into the side rearview. Her makeup always had to be perfect. She looked up and saw a small dark haired head in the hotel room window. Martha smiled and waved. He waved back, but there was something missing from his eyes; a spark or excitement. She swallowed and sighed as MacKenzie got in the car.

"All set?" He asked. "Everything okay?" His eyes followed Martha's gaze until he saw her son's head just as it was disappearing from the window. He glanced sideways at Martha. She was a beautiful woman, but she seemed sad. Not that anybody else would say that. She was a phenomenal actress. She kept her personal life personal, but MacKenzie was getting close enough to see through her façade.

"Fine," she brightly replied, "fine." She smiled at him. "I'm looking forward to our evening."

He reached out and took her hand in his. Martha liked the warmth of his fingers as they curled around hers.

"I am, too," he said, looking intently into her eyes. He released her hand and started the car, put it in reverse and started backing away. He noticed that her son's head reappeared. MacKenzie smiled at him, but Martha didn't notice.

* * *

He hopped down off the chair under the window. Actually plopped. He sat and thought for a long while. He didn't like MacKenzie, but he wasn't sure why. He had had plenty of friendships with adults. His mother seemed to like him, a lot. Rick grimaced. His mom had had a fair number of romances while he was growing up. Most of them, he considered to be her friends and not much more, although he had a pretty good idea of what happened when a 'friend' stayed over. He had learned a lot about what happened overnight from his books. Rick knew his mother did not have any idea of the extent of his knowledge, she never read the books he did, or rarely read any books at all. She read scripts. He smiled; his mother did like to have a good time. She was vibrant and the life of the party, he observed. She was a great character. He had based characters in his stories on her. They were usually loud and flamboyant. He ignored the loving, tender side of his mother. Those qualities didn't belong in an action story. He walked over to the table. The Ohio pizza was cold now. Back to the issue at hand. He could see where this relationship was going. True, he didn't like MacKenzie, he thought he was phony, but not in an actor's phoniness. He wasn't a good actor. He didn't hide his disdain for Rick very well at all. His mom had dealt with that his whole life, he surmised. She was a beautiful woman who was alone, because she had him. She had never said it or even insinuated it, but Rick was smart. He studied human interaction and had more exposure to relationships than most ten year-old boys. He also read a lot. He took his duty to protect his mom seriously. He was, in some cases, more of a grown-up than she was. He walked over to his bed and picked up his notebook and pencil. Settling himself at the table, he began to write down all the things that pissed him off about MacKenzie and then all the things that were tolerable. When he could think of no more, he reviewed. Definitely more cons than pros. He pursed his lips, "Yup, he's a jerk," he said to no one but the sad cold pizza. He sat for a minute, his blue eyes not focused on anything, but remembering. He wrote out another list. All the ways the jerk made his mom happy. He finished it with tears in his eyes. He realized that it was neither about him nor what he liked or disliked. That did not matter. It was about her. She was lonely. She deserved any happiness she could get. He resolved that he would make sure she was always happy. He looked at the clock. Nine-thirty: it was time for bed. He got himself ready, turned on the TV, crawled into his bed, and opened a book.

* * *

Martha smiled. She had had a lovely evening, one of many with this man. He connected with her. He was handsome and smart. He spoiled her and oh, it had been a while since she had been spoiled. It felt good. They finished their meal and were walking and talking in an indoors atrium. It was February in Cincinnati. It was quite chilly outside. They never seemed to run out of things to talk about. He gestured to a bench and they sat, enjoying the warmth, conversation, and the displays of plants, fountains, and lights.

"Do you want something to drink?" He indicated a bar at the far edge of the mall.

She smiled, "That would be lovely, but I'm not really interested in going to a bar right now."

"Got it covered," he kissed her cheek, "be right back." He headed toward the bar.

* * *

Martha opened the door to their room as quietly as she could. She had walked the walk of shame before, but she never had to do it in front of her son. She was relieved to see that he was sleeping. The TV was on and he had a book on the bed with him. She left her shoes by the door and walked over to his bed. She looked down at him. He was half over and half under the blanket. His hair was sticking up in sixteen different directions and his pajamas were twisted. Quite a night, it seemed. Martha smiled and raised an eyebrow. 'Mine too,' she thought. She covered him up and tucked him in. Sighing contentedly, she crossed to the bathroom.

* * *

As the key turned in the lock, he was awake. He rested on and off all night, after realizing that she wasn't returning after dinner. It was not the first time and he was sure it probably would not be her last. He pretended to be asleep. He had learned, early on, that she became embarrassed, and that morphed into anger when he greeted her after a night out. Therefore, he opted for the faux sleep. He heard the bathroom door shut and he chanced opening his eyes. He noted the time: five-thirty. He looked at the closed door between them. He could hear her singing. Not her normal belting it out to the mezzanine singing. Just pleasant, humming and a meandering of quiet notes. He tilted his head and contemplated her behavior. He lay back down. He was happy because she was happy, but he made a mental note to check out the romance section of the library. When he did not fully comprehend something, he would study it. He would observe, note, and research. So, to the romance section, tomorrow.

* * *

Martha continued to date MacKenzie until the end of the tour. It was March; they were headed for their last stop on tour. The theatre was located in Laughlin, Nevada. It was just two hours out of Las Vegas. Martha arranged to see the sights. Like every destination, she wanted Rick to get the most out of the trip. She had them scheduled to see the Grand Canyon, a ghost town tour, Red Rock Canyon and the Hoover Dam. They were on a bus back from one of their trips. He was out, totally exhausted. Martha confirmed this because not even the boundless and exhilarating Mr. Bond could keep him awake on the way back to their hotel. She leaned him over to her in her seat, put her arm around him, and finger-combed his hair as he slept. He was well travelled for a ten year old. She adored these outings, just the two of them. Martha bit her lip and looked out the window. Just the two of them. It had been that way for a long time. Ever since, they had stopped having roommates. They lived at her parents' home right after he was born. Millie and Jim moved because of a family emergency when he was still a baby. They hadn't seen him since. Martha's career and a constant lack of funds prohibited trips and every time her mom or dad talked of coming back to New York, things would conspire against that happening. Martha was hurt, initially, that they moved away. Those feelings of a young know-it-all mother strained her relationship with her parents, but they kept in touch with letters, phone calls, and photos. They were within two hours now. It was time to go see them. That would be their adventure tomorrow. She had called her mother and they were expecting them. She ruffled his hair again and closed her eyes.

* * *

"Richard Alexander Rodgers!" Rick looked up from his book. Those three names together spoken in that way were never a good thing. He met his mother's glare. "You need to be up and dressed and ready to go in ten minutes."

He scowled, "What's the big deal? Can't we just stay here today? We've been touring a lot. What else could we possibly go see?" He peppered her with whiney questions.

"It's important."

"How? Why don't you just take Mac today?" He was tired and overloaded with sights and tours. It was like his mother was trying to make the last few days of the show tour last longer. Rick wanted the exact opposite. He couldn't wait to get back to New York, to the library and home, wherever that ended up being. He was tired of living on the road. He knew that he would never have a career that took him away for extended periods of time. He craved stability.

Martha drew in a breath and counted. He was doing his level best to annoy her by keeping his nose in his book. "We're not going on a tour today." She had not told him where they were headed. She knew that when she did he would besiege her with a thousand questions.

He looked up from his book, curious. He narrowed his eyes assessing her. "Does this have to do with Mac?"

Martha was temporarily confused. "Oh, uh, no and hasn't he repeatedly asked you to call him MacKenzie. You don't like it when someone calls you Ricky do you? A little courtesy would be appreciated, please. It embarrasses me every time he has to remind you."

He blinked his eyes. Embarrasses her? He has earned any number of emotions from his mother. She's been furious, worried, delighted, happy, sad, frustrated, proud, sympathetic, joyous, fearful, but he's never heard her say that he embarrassed her. He blinked back a couple of traitorous tears, got up off his bed, gathered his clothes, and headed for the bathroom. He slammed the door shut behind him.

Martha sat down on the bed and rested her head in her hands. How had this morning gotten so out of control? He woke in a foul mood. He did, today of all days. She was counting on his optimism and his 'loving life, gotta jump out of bed' attitude. It was missing today. She should have told him what they were doing, but she didn't have the strength to answer all of his questions, not with dealing with her own feelings about seeing her folks again. She shook her head, wiped the corners of her eyes, and stood up. She checked the clock and sighed. They were going to be late.

Martha gripped the steering wheel of the Chevy Nova she had rented that morning. She glanced to her left. Her son was reading. There was nothing remarkable about that. What was remarkable is that he hadn't uttered two words since he had gotten dressed. He was angry and she figured he had a right to be. She hadn't been honest with him and he knew something was up. She took in a steadying breath and steered the car to the side of the road.

At the sudden cessation of movement, he looked up from his book.

"Welcome back."

He considered his mother, she was trying to clear the air, he recognized, but he was still mad and stubborn. "Why did we stop?"

Martha flinched at the tone in her son's voice. "Look, I know you're mad at me, I'm not sure what grievous error in parental judgment I've made to invoke this type of punishment, but I'm sorry. I am so, so, sorry."

He glared at her use of theatrics. This whole day hadn't made any sense. He was frustrated and angry and he could not figure out why, besides the obvious embarrassment he was. He stared out his window.

Martha knew he was processing and had learned to wait a couple of minutes until he had a firm grasp on the meaning of what was being discussed. She wasn't sure he could do it this time because of the anger, so she continued. "Sweetheart," he rolled his eyes and continued to look out of the window. She only called him sweetheart when she was nervous about telling him something. He braced.

Martha continued, "I haven't been completely honest about our trip today." He tilted his head back in her direction. "I, um, I wasn't sure how you would react and I'm not sure what I'm feeling. It's just so complicated."

He waited for her to say something more. Nothing was forthcoming so he huffed a breath out of his nose and put to work trying to decipher what she had just said. 'Okay, not honest meant hiding something. Hiding something meant…what?' He cocked and eyebrow, 'embarrassment?' He gritted his teeth, 'moving on – my reaction, to what? She hasn't said anything. Her feelings – usually pretty easily deciphered, not so much today – which brings us back to hiding something. "Mom, what's so horrible about where we are going? Are you and Mac, um," he rolled his eyes, "MacKenzie," said with over emphasis, "getting married?"

Martha was glad she wasn't driving. That question came out of nowhere. "What? Oh no, now?" she phrased her words carefully. He always listened to each and every one. "No, it's not that." Biting the bullet time. "We, um, we're going to see your grandparents." It was out.

Rick was shocked. He had imagined any number of scenarios and that definitely was not one of them. She never spoke of her parents, except when she would make him speak to the complete strangers on the other end of a telephone call at Christmas. They were not a part of his life and as far as he knew, not a part of her's either. "My grandparents?" He stammered, "You mean your parents? Um, Jim and Millie?"

"It will be Grandma and Grandpa for you."

"I thought you didn't like them."

"Oh, oh no, Richard, no that's not it. I love my parents." Her eyes welled with tears. "They were wonderful when I was growing up. They helped us both out a lot when you were a baby." She looked at him directly to make sure he understood her. "They moved out here when you were one and because I was hurt that they moved so far away, we kind of got mad at each other." She focused on her hands in her lap. "I have really missed them and feel bad about…"

"So, we're going to see them today, now?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

"You're okay? I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner, but you were in such a foul mood." She started the car again. "Okay, let's go."

Rick turned back to the window, processing. They were going to see her parents, his grandparents, Jim and Millie Rodgers. He had seen pictures. They looked nice enough, but… but what? He sighed.

* * *

She pulled into the driveway of a ranch style house. She checked the address she had written down to make sure they were at the right place. She reached over to smooth Richard's hair down. He waved her hand away.

"Hey, kiddo, I know that you and I aren't seeing eye to eye today, but I need you to be on your best behavior while we're here. My folks haven't seen you for nearly ten years. I don't want them to have the impression that we don't get along." She waited for a sign of understanding. He nodded. "Okay, good. Here we go."

Rick got out of the car and stretched. He looked around. Not much grass, not too many trees, either. It was barren. He walked around the front of the car to his mother when an elderly couple came out of the side door of the house. His grandmother was slightly hunched over, but had beautiful silvery hair. Her face was ethereal with piercing blue eyes. His grandfather was tall and broad shouldered. He had a kind face and wore glasses perched on the end of his nose.

"Martha!" His grandmother squealed as she embraced her daughter. Both of them were crying by the end of the hug.

"My, my who in the world can this grown-up young man be?" His grandfather asked. Rick knew it was a joke, but he didn't appreciate the condescending tone. He swallowed. He swallowed excess spit, his pride, the dust from the trip. Oh well.

He held out his hand, "I, I'm Rick." His grandfather took his hand. Rick watched amazed as his hand disappeared into the older man's hand. Suddenly he was picked up and in the throes of a bear hug.

"Jim. Jim, let the boy breathe." Rick was put down in front of Millie, his grandmother, who was still crying, but smiling at the same time. "My how you've grown. Oh, Jim, we've missed so much." She dabbed at her eyes with a hankie that she produced from seemingly nowhere.


End file.
